No Children
by bisexualcharliedavis
Summary: It got dark. When it got dark, it got cold. (Threads AU, Charlie/Rose, mentioned Blake/Jean)


Threads: a movie that fucked me up. So clearly I had to write a fic that would fuck everyone else up as well. Enjoy, and leave a review if you liked it! Warnings for: neucular bombs, character death, death of several main characters, ambiguity, childbirth, pregnancy. Rape mention. pretty much all the bad shit. Would pass this one by if you're easily triggered.

Rose had expected to be angry. She isn't. The doctor has been back for six days now and she supposes that if she was going to be angry it would have happened by now. But it hasn't. Instead, all that she has is a deep sadness inside of her. Lucien is sitting at what passes for their table, sipping water out of a metal cup. Jean is resting, still. She sat across from him, and put her elbows on the crate, resting her face in her hands. She can feel her wedding ring pressed up against her eye, the band, once smooth, was now heavily marred with scrapes and gashes. She used to be so proud of that ring. Every day, she would look at it and smile. She used to be so proud to be Mrs Davis.

"Will you let me see him, today?"

"No." Rose supposes that she might be being cruel, not letting him see Charlie. But she doesn't know for sure that Charlie will want to see him. She's not even sure she wants to see him. She and Charlie worked hard for five years to get this little shack for themselves. She doesn't really fancy sharing it.  
"I'm a doctor."

"He's already dying. What can you do about it?"

"You don't know that."

"I've watched people die, doctor." He sighs, and offers her the cup. She takes it and drinks the water in a gulp. "Are you going to take up work on the fields? I can't afford to feed you and Mrs Blake."

"I'll go out today, see what I can do." She nods.

"I'm going to see Charlie before I go in." She decided, standing, and taking the cup with her. Lucien doesn't argue with her. She supposes she's gotten a lot more curt and standoffish these last few years. She wonders if anyone would even blame her. Charlie never did.

The room where Charlie is is the same room Mrs Beazley and herself slept in. Lucien was made to sleep around the corner. She knelt next to him and gently rubbed his arm until his eyes opened. His eyes are mostly clouded over these days. He probably can't see much at all.

"Rose?" His voice is a soft whisper. She smiles when he lifts his hand to her face, gently feeling along her cheekbones, before falling to his side.

"Yeah. It's me." She said, quietly. "I brought you something to drink. It's clean." She promised, and then lied to him, "I already had some." She helped him sit halfway up and sip the water. She doesn't know if it helps him much or not but he never says no.

"I thought I heard more voices, last night." He said, voice so soft that if she wasn't used to it she may well miss it.

"Hm?" She asked, tugging the rug up closer to his neck.

"Is the doctor back?" She stills. Though he was ill, it seemed Charlie had never lost his observant edge. She wonders what else he knows.

"He is."

"Good. He'll take care of you, when I'm gone." She smoothed back his hair, it's dirty and getting long. Everyone's used to be so dark it looked black, but now it was bleached almost white from the sun. There was a time when he used to pull it back with pieces of string. She thought that made him look very smart. Until he hacked it all off one evening.

"I don't need anyone to take care of me." She reminded him.  
"Hmmm." He replied, with a small breath of air. She misses having actual conversations with him. Standing, she kissed his forehead gently. He hummed in appreciation. Turning, she left. She passed Lucien on the way out.

"He's tired. Let him rest." She wondered what she was going to do.

…

She returned home late in the evening, her rations tucked under her arm. There was hardly enough here for her, but she would split them with Charlie. There was only one acceptable method of payment, food. Money held no value to anyone anymore. Jean is up when she enters, she looks less pale, and a lot less dead then she did when she arrived. She is drinking out of the tin mug that used to belong to Charlie.

"Rose."  
"Mrs Blake."  
"Thank you, for letting me rest. That was very kind." She nodded, and tucked her rations away under the crate for the time being. She always went to see Charlie after her work. Currently, she was working in the barn, making blankets and clothes and the like. Today she'd been stitching leather for shoes. It was the job given to women who couldn't work on the farms. Lucien is sitting next to Charlie, holding one of his hands. It astonishes her that she's pleased to not have seen their reunion. He looks at her with teary eyes as she sits. Charlie is asleep, or at least pretending to.

"This is how good men die in Australia.' She whispered, folding her arms tightly over her chest. Lucien says nothing. "He worked hard everyday for five years, and this is how he ends up. Blinded on a bed made of." She has to stop and put a hand over her mouth. She'd known he was going to die but it still hits her like a ton of bricks. She doesn't know what she will do without him. Lucien puts one hand on her arm. Charlie remains asleep.

"What happened?"

"Same things that happens to all the men who've been in the field since the beginning." She replied. You'd know, if you'd stayed, but that remains unsaid. Blake gives her an imploring look. His eyes are brilliant blue, not burnt like Charlie's or her own. One of her eyes is so badly clouded that she can't see out of it anymore, but at least she still has the other one. She doesn't think she could cope with being blind, on top of everything else. "The sun burns them, and they used to breathe in all that dust." She said, softly. "Thanks and working to exsasutsion every single day." He nods, and quietly rubbed her arm.

"I don't think he's dying." Lucien said, softly. "I think he's sick, but if you let me, I could help him live longer."  
"How much longer?"

"I can't say." Rose covered her mouth and shook her head, fleeing to what they called the kitchen, but was really just their little firepit and metal pot. Jean stood when Rose came in, and went after her when she went outside.

She dropped herself into the dirt by a large tree that had somehow survived all this time. Jean sat next to her, and looked over at her, expectantly. Rose shook her head and buried her face in her hands. Jean wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders, and Rose can't help herself: She begins to cry. Jean responded to this by pulling her up against her chest, and smoothing her fingers though Rose's hair, which used to be red, but is now more of a strawberry blonde. The UV wasn't as bad as it used to be, but the damage had still been done. Eventually, her tears stopped, and she sat back. She wiped her face, and looked up at Jean. She looked older, sadder, washed out. Rose must look the same way. Neither of them know what to say.

Eventually, Rose realizes that she must talk.

"Jean?"  
"Yes?" She took in a deep breath.

"I...I think I may be, well, pregnant."

"How? When?"

"When Charlie...The night he finished the house. I didn't...I didn't there was any way I could get pregnant, not anymore. I thought, surely he must be finished from the radiation, and I hadn't had my period in months. I thought...I thought we'd be okay." She said, wiping her face now, and then placing it in her hands.

"Do you know what you're going to do?" Jean asked, softly.

"No." She replied, awkwardly putting her hands over her stomach. Shed seen other pregnant women do it, to comfort themselves. She just hoped it would comfort her as well. It wasn't, not really. She just felt like she was holding her stomach after eating too much. Which was ridiculous, because she hadn't felt that in years. It occurs to her that she may never feel that again. "I want..I want to keep it." She said, after a moment, in case Jean had thought for any length of time that there was somewhere to adopt out babies. There really wasn't. "Is that a bad thing?"

"I don't think so. I think that you want a piece of your husband." She sighed deeply, and looked up through the bleached tree leaves to the sky. The stars shine brightly up above their heads.

"Are you going to tell him?" Rose shrugs. She had no idea.

"Not if...He won't live long enough to meet 'em. I don't...I don't want him to suffer anymore." She murmured, "And I know all he'll do if suffer, if he doesn't get to meet his kid." Jean nods, and follows her eyes up at the stars.

"I think we should go back in." Jean said, pressing Rose against her briefly. Lucien'll be wondering where we went." Rose nods, and accepts the help to stand. The pair of them went back to the shack, together. Rose feeling all the lighter.

…

Rose ends up sharing her rations with the others. Charlie, because she can't let her husband starve and Blake and Jean because she knows full well Charlie would want her too. Interesting how he'd become the optimist, and she'd become the pessimist. It never used to be like that. Tonights dinner was some kind of vegetable something. They ate at the crate in tense silence. Jean obviously wanted to tell Lucien, who was worrying about Charlie. Rose supposes she will have to look into what she can wear when she begins to show. Currently, she had two outfits, neither fit for a pregnant woman to wear. She decided that for the time being her plan was to wear Charlie's clothes. He wasn't a great deal wider then her, but mens clothes were always bigger and she would need clothes.

Eventually, unable to stand the tense silence for much longer, she retreats around the corner to bed. She crawled up next to Charlie on the double bed. This wakes him. He reaches out one hand, gently feeling along her cheekbone, confirming that it was her. Someone would probably have to stay here during the day, he was far to week to have any effective defenses against any looters coming this way. Another problem she didn't have any solutions too. She pressed her face up against his fingers, enjoying the feeling of them. There is a pit in her stomach heavy as stone reminding her that she won't have this forever.

"Are you giving them a hard time?" Even now he was concerned with the well being of others.

"No."

"That's good." He said, eyes searching as though he was looking for something. All she can see is his burnt pale irises starring deeply into her chest.

"I love you." She said, softly. "No matter what. Me and you. Right?"

"Right." He agreed, voice whistful. She pressed her face up close to his chest, listening to his heart as it peacefully thudded away in his chest.

"Was the doctor good to you today? Did he bother you?"  
"Not a child, Rose."  
"No, but you are sick." Then, softer, "You looked after me when I was sick."

"That's my job, ain't it?"

"I suppose." She agreed, and then kissed his chest. He put a hand in her hair, smoothing it as best he could through the tangles. She had little time to invest in hair care these days. No one did, by the look of it. It's bitterly cold, Rose thinks, pulling the blanket up a little closer. Charlie only replies by sighing softly. "A woman gave birth in the barn today, while I was working. Right there, right in front of us."

"Hm?"  
"She screamed, so long and so loud and I kept waiting for someone to go help her, but no one did. She just lay there, even after the baby was born until I went and passed it to her. I don't think she really wanted it."  
"It's hard, in times like these. We." He has to stop for breath. "We don't know how she got pregnant." Even if Charlie won't use the words, she picks up on his meaning.

"Still a baby." She murmured, into his chest.

"I know." He replied, "I'm sorry." She sighed quietly, and allowed him to run his fingers over her shoulder until she drifted off, she could tell by his breathing that he was still awake.

Rose didn't see Lucien or Jean before work the next day. The barn was the same as it always was when she arrived. Women, all skinny with fingers that had knobbled knuckles sat in a circle, all silent stitching what they were working on. Rose joined them silently. She was wearing Charlie's spare shirt this morning because she didn't want anyone to notice her growing stomach. It wasn't unusual for women to be seen in Men's clothes, there really was no gender divide on clothing anymore. She opened her basket, collecting her needle and thread, both thick and sharp, so she could continue her work making boots for the people out in the fields. She doesn't speak. No one really does, they all just kind of sit in silence. Forcing the needle through the leather, she tugged the string tight, and allowed her mind to drift, taking advantage of the mindless work.

Was Charlie going to die? She'd been convinced of it a week ago, when there'd been word sent to the barn that he'd gone down. Rose had gotten to her feet, and ran, as fast as her numb feet would carry her to him. They'd put him under a tree, a little protected from the rays of the sun. It wasn't until he couldn't see her that she realized exactly how little he could see She'd cried, and a man she didn't recognize helped her get him back to the shack. It didn't seem fair, that he should build this shack and then collapse.

It wasn't all that unusual for men to collapse on the field. It happened all the time. Too little food and too much intense work led to men collapsing, some dying before anything could be done for them. They had to dispose of bodies in a large shared grave, because burning them was a waste of fuel and burying them was a waste of man power. She doesn't see how putting bodies in a big pit is the suitable answer, but she won't argue. It's not worth it.

Charlie built the shack with one thing in mind. Not her, but because he was sick of having to sleep in the barn with all the other workers. According to him, it's like being squeezed in the middle until he was empty inside. Rose had agreed, but she hadn't expected him to sacrifice rations for wood to build a shack. To build a bed and a shelf. But all the same she was grateful that he had. She didn't think she could survive having to nurse him in the barn. Although she does suspect that it may be easier to deal with Lucien and Jean.

Lucien and Jean. What about Lucien and Jean anyway? They'd vanished for years only to just show up out of the blue when Charlie was dying. It seemed hilarious to her.

As the day crawled into night, Rose arranged her shoes into a stack. This barn was controlled by a british man. England itself had escaped the blast, and had sent doctors, nurses and soldiers to Australia to help them. Rose thinks that they hurt far more then they help. She heard stories all the time of women being raped and beaten by these men. It was only by good luck that no one had come for her yet. She wondered what was going to happen to them now. The British man pushed in his cart of ration packs, distributing them to the people who produced the most first. She was in the middle of the group, as per usual. She simply could not keep up with the women who made more faster. The woman with the baby received a small parcel. For the baby, she suspected. The child had no nose, but other then that seemed to be okay. Strange looking babies were not out of the ordinary either.

When they came to the camp, and had put down their names as Charlie and Rose Davis, as refugees from Ballarat, she had read that children were given half packets until they were old enough to work. She would have to make a trip to the main camp and put the baby down so that she could feed it. Assuming she made it to term, of course. Not much longer now and she suspected Charlie would be able to feel the change in her body.

She ran home.

…

When she arrived home, she noticed two other parcels from the rations man sitting on their crate. Lucien and Jean must have gone to get work, then. However it seems the pair of them were in with Charlie. She stepped in, stopping to look. Charlie was awake, and sitting, even. He's drinking from a metal cup. He pauses.

"Rose?"

"I'm here." She said, softly. He smiled, and took another sip from his cup. She pushes her way over to the bed, and pulls herself onto the straw, and sitting next to him.

"You look...a little better." He offers the cup in her general direction. His eyes are looking into the distance, the iris pale against the rest of his eye, even his pupils are beginning to change colour.

"Thank you." He murmured. "How was work?" It's so absurd that she wants to laugh. The two of them, sitting here, talking about work as if a nuclear bomb hadn't been dropped on their country. Charlie doesn't find it nearly so funny. No one but her. Her fingers ache from the painstaking work. Charlie is at least sitting up, she thinks. The tiny bubble of laughter pops in her stomach, before it's even truly given life. Charlie seems unmoved by this. He has unwavering faith in her. She doesn't even end up eating that night, just sits there with him all night, in the quiet. Sleeps there as well.

…

He left the bunker once Hobart let him. He promised to return right away, that he just needed to be not enclosed for a few minutes. Once he was out, he left. He had one single goal in mind: Get to Rose. A few minutes into his walk he realized he couldn't wear these clothes. To obvious. He located a deadman and traded in his clothes. Looking back, he wished he'd said a more proper goodbye to Bill, given that he will never see him again.

It's a long walk to Lawson's place from the station, when he arrives, there's nothing left of it. The foundation still stands, but the shelter built in the middle of the home had not protected him from the radiation. With scissors in his shaking hands, he cut the epaulets off of Lawson's greatcoat, and took it with him. Partially because he didn't have a coat. Partially to remember him. He moves on, suspecting Rose was probably at work, and he would have to go into town for that.

After finding the courier building empty, and the shelter looted, he realized his odds of finding Rose were slim. It's icy cold out at night. He spends it under Rose's desk, holding her copy of their wedding picture close to his chest. He doesn't take it with him when he goes.

Within days, he is swept into a crowd of other refugees. That was when he saw her. She had a large jaggard slice on her face but it's a face he knows better then his own.

"Rose!" She turns.

"Charlie?" She yelled back, eyes seeking him out,

"Rose!" She tries to fight the crowd and reach him, but is pulled away by the people forging onwards, He screams out for her again and again until he can't see her.

…

"I'm so tired, Rose." She pressed his head against her chest, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"I know." She replied, softly, stroking her fingers through his bleached hair. It wasn't curly like it used to be, it was thinner, sadder. The doctor could say what he wanted: Charlie was still dying. She knew, deep in her gut, that he was leaving them today. His voice was reduced to the occasional mumble she would be able to make out, but mostly it was just mumbles.

Lucien and Jean were working, but today she opted to remain here with Charlie. She didn't want him to die alone.

"I love you."

"I know." She repeated. "I love you, too." He doesn't have any reply for that, not for long while, not until the baby kicks, and he feels it and he smiles a little. Charlie took great joy in feeling her stomach, and she wasn't going to deny him something that was able to bring a little joy into his life.

"What will you name it?"  
"Matthew Charles Davis if it's a boy, or Jeanette Elizabeth Davis if it's a girl."

"Hmmmmmmmm." He said, eyes still shut. She ran her fingers through his blonde hair, as he took deep, peaceful breaths. They lay like that for a whole day, Charlie breathing softly, no longer feeling any need to talk. Rose lay with him, crying sometimes, other times calm.

She could pin point the moment he stopped. She couldn't feel the rise and fall and flicker of his eyelashes anymore. She held him close, for the rest of the day. Blake knew, as he came in the door. He knew when he sat on the bed and put his hand in Charlie's hair. It was still warm. The three of them cried together over him. Rose hopes, with all her heart, that Charlie knew how much he was loved.

…

"Are we going to die?" Rose was resting on his chest, under Lawson's coat.

"Maybe." Charlie said back, the only light on his face coming from the dancing flames from he nearby fire.

"I don't want to die." She whispered, as Charlie tugged her incrementially closer.

"I won't let you die." He replied. It was rare they saw each other, even at the same camp. Rose was deemed to weak to work in the fields and repaired clothes in the barn. Charlie was deemed to strong to make clothes in the barn and worked in the field. But they had tonight. People had been dropping like flies of late. Charlie estimates it has been six weeks since the end of all time as they knew it.

"Will Lucien and Jean come back?"  
"No, I don't think so." By sheer luck, they'd ended up in the same camp and Lucien and Jean, both of which had been separated. The last time they'd seen the older couple was, by Charlie's count, a week ago. And then they just vanished, probably to go and find better living conditions. Lucien hated being in the camp. From what Charlie could understand, and it must be known Charlie did not understand many things, it brought back a lot of bad memories for him.

"The british are sending out men and the like."  
"Hm." Charlie replied, kissing her hair gently. Rose sighed peacefully. A man nearby is lamenting to whoever will listen that the government is unfair and it's wrong to keep them here. Neither Charlie nor Rose pay any attention to him. Charlie wishes that they had somewhere of their own to sleep. A house, possibly. He'd been saving, in recent months, to buy a home in Ballarat for both him and his wife. He knew Rose, though she would never admit it, was sick of living with her uncle and that really: He hadn't needed her help for quite some time. Now he didn't have any money, not that it was needed any more. The only currency people really accepted was food and God knows he hardly had enough for himself.

"What if I can't work again tomorrow?"

"I'll still work, and I'll share my rations with you."

"You'll starve."

"I think I have a little time left before I starve." His stomach growls. Rose gives him a sad look.

"I know. But I still don't want you to be hungry." Charlie shrugged. Rose seemingly understood, as she left him be, at least, for the time being.

…

It was Lucien that carried Charlie's body to the pit. The pit, as it was, was exactly how it is described. A pit full of bodies, since burying them was a crime now, called waste of man power. Rose could only watch as the doctor held Charlie's body, still as he was. They stood with him, by the pit. It stunk of rotting flesh. She took Charlie's hand one last time, kissing each of his fingers. Jean read something from a tiny bible, but Rose really wasn't listening. She was waiting for something. A sigh, perhaps? A something.

Lucien ended up climbing into the pit to lay Charlie under some of the other bodies, risking illness to protect his friend from the few animals that liked to feast on the flesh of the dead. She realizes she's crying all too late. Jean wrapped a tight arm around her shoulders as they stood there, waiting, she supposes, for Charlie to get up and to ask them why he was in the pit. Tell them it wasn't really very funny.

He doesn't.

Waiting for some magical way to feel alright again, after such a tragedy.

She doesn't.

The three go back to the hut, and Rose cries the whole time, until she's lying in their bed, and she realizes that it still smells like him. She holds his blanket close to her face, and breathes in until she falls asleep, not even able to muster up the feeling to be hungry.

…

The baby was born on the kitchen floor, because that was where Lucien said it would be best. There's a towel for her, set up. A white one, that was now brown with dirt. There's no pain relief, nothing of the sort like they would have had in the old days. Jean holds her hand and tries to comfort her but it's no good: She isn't Charlie. The blanket around her shoulders still has the faintest trace of him left on it, and she'd wrapped that one around her shoulders, to protect her from the cold so she didn't have to get blood on her clothes.

Perhaps in another life, being naked like this would have upset her, but she doesn't have the energy to feel much of anything anymore. She still wears her wedding ring, day in and day out. Her fingers swelled, and it got so tight that it cut off her blood circulation, and still she refused to take it off until her finger literally fell away. She now wore it on the other hand, as soon as she could fit it on. She can't imagine ever being in love again. Though recently she'd wondered if she was even in love with Charlie. Maybe it was the sort of love you get used to having, so the idea of not having it is so uncomfortable that you would spend your life unhappy then get rid of it.

Jean was her rock in this time, holding her hand, showing her the breathing tricks but it didn't much help. It still felt like she was trying to give birth to a child the size of a watermelon. Rose cupped her hands on her stomach, feeling and pressing and crying. Jean wasn't helping at all, really. But she never said anything, after all: She did want Jean to feel like she was useful in a situation she probably could have dealt with on her own. Even Lucien she could have done without. She would have been just fine on her own. She realized, belatedly, that she also didn't really care.

There was blood everywhere, on her, on Lucien and on Jean. The towel was soaked through. She let out a scream and the doctor encourages her to push. She does, and does, and does. Lucien is holding another piece of cloth, waiting for the head to emerge from her body into the rest of the world. She can't bare to look and see if Charlie was reflected in those features. She supposes, in her weary mind, that it was because she was scared she wouldn't see it. Jean is breathing with her and she is very aware that her breath has turned to panting sobs. She doesn't want Jean's hand. She want's Charlie's hand.

"Just one more push, Rose!" She pants, steels herself, and gives one, final push and is greeted by silence. Her motherly instinct raises it's tiny, battered voice. She hasn't felt it yet, she feels so disconnected from everything and from herself. But now: She feels it's tiny pull.

"Why aren't they crying?" She asked, "What's wrong?" Lucien and Jean move away, and she pants heavily, trying to collect herself. A cutting noise, the umbilical chord, she thinks. Is it dead? Has her body become her baby's tomb? Then:

"It's a girl." He sounds...Sad. The crying begins. Actual screaming with all of it's lungs Jean us looking away from both of them, a hand covering her mouth. Lucien's face is pinched. She suspects it may well be more then a missing nose. He brings the child so Rose can see it. She takes one look, and begins to scream.


End file.
